


How We Bleed

by NamelessShe



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, depressing things, no happy ending, trigger warning for miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelessShe/pseuds/NamelessShe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They get back together after Solas destroys the veil. But when Lavellan takes possession of an old god's soul, Solas is not happy. </p><p>He doesn't give her a chance to tell him her good news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for miscarriage.

She was sick before she did it, before she took the old god's soul.

Solas has been angry ever since. She doesn't regret it. Not for a moment, because she feels like she's on even ground now. He pulls his people back from the remnants of the Inquisition and he leaves them in peace.

He has taken Mythal's soul and he has killed so many of her people, why should she not take something for herself? The old god's soul will keep them all safe.

She feels everything more keenly. 

Colors are brighter. Sounds are clearer. But more importantly, she sees why she has felt so strange the last few months. When she finally tells him, and she will, soon, he'll forgive her for taking the soul and they will move forward.

It will be alright again.

She sews the tiny blanket while he's gone and hides it when he returns. 

He begs her to release the soul. 

"You have nothing to fear from me," he says, "You don't need it."

But she does. It is the only thing holding him back. It's keeping her people safe because he listens again. She loves him so much and though he claims he feels the same way, she can't help but wonder. 

When the blanket is finished, she folds it and writes "To papae" on parchment and wraps them up with the pretty ribbon Cole finds. She wants to see Solas' face when the realization hits. She thinks he will be pleased, or at the very least, he will be pleasantly surprised. 

She never thought she would ever have this chance. So many times she thought she would die in battle, or she believed Solas was lost to her forever. She almost can't believe how her life has changed. He is angry now, but they are together. 

This child will be loved.

 

He disappears for three days. The gift waits. She runs out of things to do so she starts piecing together tiny shirts and socks and little things she remembers her clan mates making for expectant parents. 

When Cole visits her, he brings her new thread and pretty buttons. He helps her pick the colors for each shirt. She teaches him how to thread a needle and gives him pieces of scrap cloth to practice his stitches. He wants to make something for the baby. 

And she is so angry with Solas for leaving, for not telling her he was going away.

She imagines elaborate punishments she would never dare carry out. Cole soothes her temper. He makes her laugh. When Solas does return, the worst of her anger is gone. She doesn't wait for him to come to her, she finds him in his study and when he looks up she doesn't understand the look he gives her.

"I was about to send for you," he says, and his voice sounds so strange.

She sets his present on his desk and she is so nervous, she doesn't know how to begin. He doesn't even look at it.

"I have something to tell you," she says, but he stops her.

He takes both her hands and looks into her eyes, and she feels the first prickling of fear. He has never looked at her like this. Too intense. Cold. 

"In a moment," he says, "I'm sorry, vhenan, but this can't wait. It is too important."

She does not understand but she wants to pull away. His grip is too tight and she can't.

"What are you doing?" she asks, tries to laugh and smile, but then, all she feels is pain. 

She feels the old god's soul inside her, she feels it tearing as he rips it out of her. She feels its magic dying and she is screaming.

When the pain finally stops, she falls to her knees. She is numb. She is so cold.

"What have you done?'" she asks. Her throat is raw.

He kneels beside her and now his eyes are soft. He smiles and kisses her. She can't push him away. The room is spinning. She is going to be sick.

"You will be fine now," he says, "It was hurting you. I had no choice, my love."

But there is a sharp pain low in her belly, lancing all the way through her back, and it is worse than anything she has ever felt. She can barely see through the haze that settles over her. She can't breathe. She claws at him, trying to stay upright but then the pain is worse and she's crumbling.

She presses her hand to the pain and she feels warmth seeping through her clothes. She looks down and sees blood. Her hands are red. It has already soaked through her smalls and her pants and the front of her shirt. 

She hears him say something but she doesn't understand. There is nothing in the world but this pain. 

"What have you done?" she shouts. 

And then she hits him and her blood smears across his cheek.

Some of the pain dulls and she realizes he's trying to heal her. He's screaming for Abelas, for help. He doesn't understand. It's already too late. 

"You killed our baby," she says. 

"What did you say?" he asks. His spell breaks off and her muscles contract. The force of it makes her scream. She hits him again. And again. 

There is so much blood. 

And then Abelas is there and a healer and it is still already too late. She knows. She feels it. The child is gone.

 

He is asleep at her bedside when she wakes. Her blood has dried on his face. He hasn't bothered to clean it. 

"Get out," she says and her throat feels dry and cracked. 

He stirs and his eyes are bloodshot. He doesn't understand at first but she doesn't care. She is empty. She is empty. She is empty.

"Get out," she screams, because all she feels is pain and that terrible emptiness and it is his fault. 

"I am so sorry, I didn't know," he says, "I wouldn't have if I'd thought---if I'd realized---please---" And he tries to take her hand. He tries to hold on to her but she can't stand the thought of him touching her. She can't look at him. She can't hear his voice right now. She just can't.

_his fault his fault his fault_

When she tries to move, she almost blacks out. It is all too much. He climbs into bed and wraps his arms around her. 

And he is crying.

"I am sorry," he says, "I am so sorry." He keeps saying it and it means nothing. He tightens his hold when she pushes him. He is hurting her again. She can't make him stop.

The healers finally pull him away. They give him to Abelas who looks at her with sad eyes before he takes Solas away.

"When can I leave?" she asks.

The healers give each other knowing looks. They fuss over her and make sympathetic noises. They speak in soothing tones and tell her to give herself time. Forgive him. He loves her so much.

She doesn't care. She never wants to see him again. She never wants to see any of them again.

 

She leaves with Cole when she feels well enough and the healers doze off. She is not coming back.


	2. What Is Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas POV after Lavellan leaves.

It sits on his desk for days after she leaves. He watches it collect dust and he can't bring himself to touch it. Not even knowing it is from her. 

She is gone and she is never coming back and it is his own fault.

He doesn't open it until Abelas threatens to take it away, and even then, his traitorous hands shake. Her handwriting is scrawled across a piece of parchment. To Papae. And then, he is almost undone.

His only child, dead before they even had a chance. A child that will never take their first steps or see magic for the first time or laugh or breathe or live and all because of him. He is not Papae. His child will never call him that. 

The blanket is sized perfectly for an infant. The squares were cut from his old shirts. The stitches are a little uneven and some of the colors clash horribly, but it is beautiful. She did this for their child. She put her heart into it and then she gave it to him.

And their child will never know it. He will never get to wrap them in it. He will never tuck them into bed with it and tell them how their mother saved the world. He will never get to kiss their forehead or count their toes and marvel at how small and perfect they are.

His own fault.

If he had only waited. If he had just let her speak. Why hadn't he? There was plenty of time. Why had he been in such a rush?

He can barely breathe and his chest hurts from the strain. She would be here, making plans. Her laughter would echo in these walls. He buries his face in the quilt and it still smells like her.

Her trunk sits in their room, unopened for even longer than the quilt. Abelas wants to take that away too, but he stops him. He knows what's probably inside and he knows it will hurt too much, but it is what he deserves.

She was so happy that day; the moment she called to him in the study, she was radiant. Excited. So beautiful. 

She had been so sick for so long---she had lost too much weight. He had listened to her empty her stomach when she thought he was sleeping and he was gripped by such a terrible, cold dread. He could think of nothing else. For days and days. He couldn't lose her. But she seemed to get worse.

He had been so sure it was the old god's soul she had stolen. He wouldn't believe anything else could be the cause. It was killing her. It was the only thing. He knew. He just knew. And he was wrong.

He unpacks the trunk one item at a time. He imagines her sitting by the fire, holding a needle between her teeth while she picks through the colorful spools of thread. He sees her excitement as she begins each new project. He sees the unruly wisps of hair that would have escaped the confines of the bun she often wore. He imagines all the moments he missed while he was away, while he was chasing another terrible mistake.

There are more shirts than the child could possibly have ever worn. And some only just started, left unfinished. There is a bag full to bursting with mismatched buttons and pretty ribbon and thread. There are knitting needles and yarn. Another blanket. Colorful hats, bonnets, and bibs.

He has never seen socks this small. 

If he had only waited, just a few seconds, just one moment. She would still be here. Their child would be here.

And he would not be so alone.


End file.
